10.28.2003
PERSPECTIVE
Photo taken at 10:00 pm. Erik and I took a short ski on the road out to the ice runway. God it felt good to get out of town and into the wilderness a bit. I've spent way too much time with my nose to the scrubbie. The "crud" has lifted a bit (I've been sick the past few days) -- and it was heaven to be out in the sun and skiing with my guy. I felt like a dog on a run -- all smiles. I'm working a late shift today, so I'm enjoying a leisurely morning.
The view here is of McMurdo in the center, Observation Hill exiting to the right. The large snow-covered peak on the left is Mt. Erebus -- an active volcano, and mother of our little rock island. The perspective is a little deceiving, because Erebus stands over 12,000 feet tall (starting at sea level - I'm standing on the frozen sea) and is almost 100 miles away.
Photo taken at 10:00 pm. Erik and I took a short ski on the road out to the ice runway. God it felt good to get out of town and into the wilderness a bit. I've spent way too much time with my nose to the scrubbie. The "crud" has lifted a bit (I've been sick the past few days) -- and it was heaven to be out in the sun and skiing with my guy. I felt like a dog on a run -- all smiles. I'm working a late shift today, so I'm enjoying a leisurely morning.
The view here is of McMurdo in the center, Observation Hill exiting to the right. The large snow-covered peak on the left is Mt. Erebus -- an active volcano, and mother of our little rock island. The perspective is a little deceiving, because Erebus stands over 12,000 feet tall (starting at sea level - I'm standing on the frozen sea) and is almost 100 miles away.
10.24.2003
LIFE IN THE GALLEY
Welcome to my world
Key phrase: High Volume Output. All of our equipment and procedures are set up to meet the dining needs of 1,200 people three times a day (and a population of 200 for the midnight meal). Here I am stirring Paul Bunyon's tea.
Most of the food is cooked in these 6 oversized steam kettles. On the other side of the kitchen are a line of ovens and fryers. Not a single stove is used for cooking at this volume.
For breakfast you can have eggs to order from Sherrie, the egg lady. She's been coming down for 8 seasons. You can even get a Denver omlette right here in Antarctica. Ernest Shakleton never dreamed of having it so good. (If you don't know about Ernest Shakleton's early Antarctic explorations, check out the link at right).
Here's Lucy, monitoring "the line". We bring out full "hotel pans" full of hot food as needed and keep the area looking clean and as enticing as possible. Lucy, an Italian woman, has a Master's degree in arcaeology, and runs a high-altitude mountaineering hut in the Italian Alps at the border of France. Erik and I are thinking of visiting her and her husband Luke (who is a production cook) there in our travels.
My buns are starting to resemble these.
We do a pretty good job serving healthy food, given the dirth of fresh foods (they call them "freshies", and are as prized as cigarettes in prison. I served an apple at a party the other day, and got ooohhs and aaahhhs). Most all of the food we're eating arrived on the ship last February, and has been frozen since then (and who knows how long before that). It's stored in huge square cardboard boxes stacked two stories high in a warehouse across the street. On a tour, I saw one container marked "dead cow". We wondered if the other boxes contained live cows?
The bakery is world class, however -- baking fresh breads and pastries daily. Even the hot dog buns are made from scratch. Our head baker worked at the Brown Palace Hotel in Denver. (I've still never been there for high tea -- an activity high on my list of things to do when I get back to Boulder). The midnight baker, Jake, is famous for his irresistable cinnamon buns.
This is the dining room, bustling with lunchtime activity. Lunch is our busiest meal, and we have 18 DAs (dining attendants) on schedule tasked with serving, washing dishes and pots & pans, making sandwiches, working in the bakery, chopping vegetables, meal clean-up, laundry, sweeping and mopping floors, vacuuming, washing tables, filling salt & pepper & sugar & napkins, cleaning the galley bathrooms, and most importantly, MAKING COFFEE. Not the most glamorous job on the base. But not without recognition -- many times a day folks stop and thank us for our efforts.
My nemesis: the stack of pots and pans in the "pot room". I actually like this task, because I can put on my favorite music and go, go, go. No customers here.
David (in the background behind the pot room sanitizer and a stack of sheet pans coming out), one of my fellow co-workers from Detriot. He just graduated with a Master's in philosophy, and will pursue a career in photography once he leaves here. The best part of this job is the group of people I work with. Each person was hand picked not so much for their dish-washing skills, but as an interesting individual with obvious strength of character. Makes my job as "lord of the flies" easier.
This is Phil, on his last day of 14-months as a DA. He and Martha were two of my favorite winter-over friends. They had been there through the isolated months with no sunshine, and were quite overwhelmed when we arrived at WinFly excited and eager to be trained.
Our becoming uniforms consist of baggy black chef pants, bright blue polo shirt, dingy "white" apron, plastic apron (complete with duct tape), green gloves over white cotton liners, and some sort of all-over hair covering. David wears a hair net, but the rest of us (mostly women) wear handkerchiefs -- to top off the communist factory-worker look.
Three more DAs feeding "Bertha", the other dish machine. She licks our plates and silverware clean.
The first time I walked out into the dining hall on a break carrying my tray, looking out at the crowd of unfamiliar faces for a table to sit at, I felt transported back to elementary school. Wearing my DA uniform, denuded of my professional identity, I realized how much of my self-esteem I draw from my career. If I look at the bright side (and you know I usually do) I can see that this will be a good growth experience to let go of "CareerGirl" for a little bit, and get back to basics in many ways.
Welcome to my world
Key phrase: High Volume Output. All of our equipment and procedures are set up to meet the dining needs of 1,200 people three times a day (and a population of 200 for the midnight meal). Here I am stirring Paul Bunyon's tea.
Most of the food is cooked in these 6 oversized steam kettles. On the other side of the kitchen are a line of ovens and fryers. Not a single stove is used for cooking at this volume.
For breakfast you can have eggs to order from Sherrie, the egg lady. She's been coming down for 8 seasons. You can even get a Denver omlette right here in Antarctica. Ernest Shakleton never dreamed of having it so good. (If you don't know about Ernest Shakleton's early Antarctic explorations, check out the link at right).
Here's Lucy, monitoring "the line". We bring out full "hotel pans" full of hot food as needed and keep the area looking clean and as enticing as possible. Lucy, an Italian woman, has a Master's degree in arcaeology, and runs a high-altitude mountaineering hut in the Italian Alps at the border of France. Erik and I are thinking of visiting her and her husband Luke (who is a production cook) there in our travels.
My buns are starting to resemble these.
We do a pretty good job serving healthy food, given the dirth of fresh foods (they call them "freshies", and are as prized as cigarettes in prison. I served an apple at a party the other day, and got ooohhs and aaahhhs). Most all of the food we're eating arrived on the ship last February, and has been frozen since then (and who knows how long before that). It's stored in huge square cardboard boxes stacked two stories high in a warehouse across the street. On a tour, I saw one container marked "dead cow". We wondered if the other boxes contained live cows?
The bakery is world class, however -- baking fresh breads and pastries daily. Even the hot dog buns are made from scratch. Our head baker worked at the Brown Palace Hotel in Denver. (I've still never been there for high tea -- an activity high on my list of things to do when I get back to Boulder). The midnight baker, Jake, is famous for his irresistable cinnamon buns.
This is the dining room, bustling with lunchtime activity. Lunch is our busiest meal, and we have 18 DAs (dining attendants) on schedule tasked with serving, washing dishes and pots & pans, making sandwiches, working in the bakery, chopping vegetables, meal clean-up, laundry, sweeping and mopping floors, vacuuming, washing tables, filling salt & pepper & sugar & napkins, cleaning the galley bathrooms, and most importantly, MAKING COFFEE. Not the most glamorous job on the base. But not without recognition -- many times a day folks stop and thank us for our efforts.
My nemesis: the stack of pots and pans in the "pot room". I actually like this task, because I can put on my favorite music and go, go, go. No customers here.
David (in the background behind the pot room sanitizer and a stack of sheet pans coming out), one of my fellow co-workers from Detriot. He just graduated with a Master's in philosophy, and will pursue a career in photography once he leaves here. The best part of this job is the group of people I work with. Each person was hand picked not so much for their dish-washing skills, but as an interesting individual with obvious strength of character. Makes my job as "lord of the flies" easier.
This is Phil, on his last day of 14-months as a DA. He and Martha were two of my favorite winter-over friends. They had been there through the isolated months with no sunshine, and were quite overwhelmed when we arrived at WinFly excited and eager to be trained.
Our becoming uniforms consist of baggy black chef pants, bright blue polo shirt, dingy "white" apron, plastic apron (complete with duct tape), green gloves over white cotton liners, and some sort of all-over hair covering. David wears a hair net, but the rest of us (mostly women) wear handkerchiefs -- to top off the communist factory-worker look.
Three more DAs feeding "Bertha", the other dish machine. She licks our plates and silverware clean.
The first time I walked out into the dining hall on a break carrying my tray, looking out at the crowd of unfamiliar faces for a table to sit at, I felt transported back to elementary school. Wearing my DA uniform, denuded of my professional identity, I realized how much of my self-esteem I draw from my career. If I look at the bright side (and you know I usually do) I can see that this will be a good growth experience to let go of "CareerGirl" for a little bit, and get back to basics in many ways.
10.17.2003
TGIF
Friday is my only day off -- so it's especially nice for me. Last night I dreamt that Delma (my boss) told me I had to come in; that Debbie was sick. Whew, just a dream. I got to sleep in and have lunch with my guy; do the Thursday NYTimes Crossword over coffee. Raytheon (my employer) spends $15,000 for a 4-month subscription to the Times Digest -- headlines and editorials printed out and distributed in the dining hall. Today's gossip (NOT in the Times): one of the cooks got fired, and didn't show up for her plane ride home. Handcuffs?
Tonight I work at the coffeehouse, I'm perfecting my music mix. I really like bartending. It's like throwing a party and getting paid to do it! And I don't have a hangover the next day.
More graphic design photos...
Friday is my only day off -- so it's especially nice for me. Last night I dreamt that Delma (my boss) told me I had to come in; that Debbie was sick. Whew, just a dream. I got to sleep in and have lunch with my guy; do the Thursday NYTimes Crossword over coffee. Raytheon (my employer) spends $15,000 for a 4-month subscription to the Times Digest -- headlines and editorials printed out and distributed in the dining hall. Today's gossip (NOT in the Times): one of the cooks got fired, and didn't show up for her plane ride home. Handcuffs?
Tonight I work at the coffeehouse, I'm perfecting my music mix. I really like bartending. It's like throwing a party and getting paid to do it! And I don't have a hangover the next day.
More graphic design photos...
10.14.2003
Big Dead Place
Sorry for the brief hiatus. Things have sped up here (that is everything but the internet connection) -- it's already light almost 24 hours a day, planes are coming and going at regular intervals (when weather allows), and our population has doubled (read: twice as many dishes to wash). The days are flying by, and the newness and excitement of being here has worn off. The reality of my sucky job is settling in -- last week was a low point for me. My arms and back were screaming, I couldn't sleep, I was training 23 new people, and I realized that this is a big, cold, dead place (and the pms didn't help). No plants no bugs no mice no cats no dogs no trees no grass no birds no dirt. Just volcanic dust and ice and snow and sky. And us.
This week has been better. My arms are fine now and I'm getting used to the summer pace -- making new friends and getting involved in creative projects. I've been wallpapering our room with labels from canned food, continuing my research on gravity (did you know that time slows under gravity?), working on a circus sculpture and storyboard for a friend's movie, doing research and sketches for an underwater scene I'll be painting in Lucy's dive hut. One advantage to this pseudo-communist lifestyle is that I have more time for creative projects since there are no errands to run or meals to make.
On a positive note, we've moved to a room with a view of the sea ice and the Royal Society Mountain Range. We can see the planes take off and land from the ice runway at Willey Field.
Since the sun is skirting the horizon on either side in long sweeps, the sunsets have been spectacular. This is a photo taken from our window of one 3-hour sunset last week. Erik wandered on the ice for hours taking photos in the snow.
Friday was my day off, and I managed to find some delight in walking around town documenting the graphic design of McMurdo.
Sorry for the brief hiatus. Things have sped up here (that is everything but the internet connection) -- it's already light almost 24 hours a day, planes are coming and going at regular intervals (when weather allows), and our population has doubled (read: twice as many dishes to wash). The days are flying by, and the newness and excitement of being here has worn off. The reality of my sucky job is settling in -- last week was a low point for me. My arms and back were screaming, I couldn't sleep, I was training 23 new people, and I realized that this is a big, cold, dead place (and the pms didn't help). No plants no bugs no mice no cats no dogs no trees no grass no birds no dirt. Just volcanic dust and ice and snow and sky. And us.
This week has been better. My arms are fine now and I'm getting used to the summer pace -- making new friends and getting involved in creative projects. I've been wallpapering our room with labels from canned food, continuing my research on gravity (did you know that time slows under gravity?), working on a circus sculpture and storyboard for a friend's movie, doing research and sketches for an underwater scene I'll be painting in Lucy's dive hut. One advantage to this pseudo-communist lifestyle is that I have more time for creative projects since there are no errands to run or meals to make.
On a positive note, we've moved to a room with a view of the sea ice and the Royal Society Mountain Range. We can see the planes take off and land from the ice runway at Willey Field.
Since the sun is skirting the horizon on either side in long sweeps, the sunsets have been spectacular. This is a photo taken from our window of one 3-hour sunset last week. Erik wandered on the ice for hours taking photos in the snow.
Friday was my day off, and I managed to find some delight in walking around town documenting the graphic design of McMurdo.
